


Greed

by 0neType



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Swapfell, Angst and Porn, Grinding, KH!Swapfell, M/M, Prostitution, Purple Swapfell, Sibling Incest, Spitroasting, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-16 09:30:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14808716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0neType/pseuds/0neType
Summary: There are certain things Papyrus wants that he really shouldn't be allowed to have.Getting them anyways goes well about half the time.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh man, like I said on tumblr--I went through the swapfellcest tag and came through it with only a handful of purple sfcest art and like............... _zero_ fic. D': So, I figured I'd write some and see if anyone else was into it.
> 
> If you are, hit me up with them headcanons dude, I'm _so ready for it._

Papyrus jolts up in bed, soul pounding in his chest and gasping his brother’s name. This is more or less par for the course when it comes to his sleepless nights. He has nightmares frequently—wakes up drenched in sweat with his bones rattling like a wind-chime five nights out of seven—but this is different. He’s still panting, still perspiring, still every bit as run ragged as he is at the end of any old nightmare.

What makes it out of the ordinary is that, this time, he’s also sticky with cum.

He stares down at himself, sheets bunched up underneath him thanks to his restless tossing and turning. His shorts sit low on his hips, sagging down far enough that his crests are exposed, bones chipped and yellow even in the meager light coming in through the slips in his blinds. Papyrus reaches a hand out towards his pelvis and tugs at the fabric, wincing at how it clings to his bones. Even now, there’s a residual glow underneath his clothes. Confirmation of what woke him so suddenly.

He dreamt about Sans fucking him.

Papyrus figures he should feel something about that beyond the dull sense of surprise he’s currently experiencing. That’s weird, right? It’s weird that he feels no shame or embarrassment or disgust?

But then again, with some of the clients he’s had, letting Sans use him would be an upgrade.

Besides, it’s easy enough to explain away the dream. He’d come home from a long night of offering himself up, body worn out and sore. He’d barely had the foresight to ‘port straight up to his room instead of walking in through the front door and facing his brother’s wrath. Exhausted, he’d wiped himself down with some discarded clothes laying on the floor before slipping off his sandals and his hoodie and tossing himself face-first into his mattress. Sharp spasms of pain shot through his blind eye as he blearily calculated his earnings, sleep wrapping in around his skull.

He’d also been thinking about his brother.

Sans had gotten rejected from the Guard again, coming home enraged at the ‘injustice’ of it all. Papyrus hadn’t been able to keep himself from laughing outright at the predictable outcome and the ensuing mass of projectiles that had been tossed his way did little to stifle his snickering. He’d told his brother time and time again that it was his awful temper and thinly-veiled bloodlust that kept Alphys from adding him to the ranks—and with good reason. The Guard would never get anything done if one of their own went around dusting monsters left and right.

In any case, it’s easy to see where Papyrus’s subconscious might have gotten that twisted. A simple thing to replace a snarling monster gripping his arms forearms tight as he plunges violently in and out of Papyrus’s cunt with his brother’s crazed grin and vicious hold.

… it’s harder to ignore the shiver that runs up his spine as he thinks of it.

“Papyrus,” Dream Sans had growled, hilted so deep that, even awake, Papyrus swore he could feel the ghost of his touch thick and heavy within him, “I’m going to break you open on my cock.”

Which.

Bad porn dialogue really.

But it had made him cum anyways, so.

Regardless, the dream means nothing. Even if continuing to think about it as his soul calms and the comfortable haze of orgasm dissipates is giving rise to all sorts of complicated, churning emotions. Papyrus is tired. He’s exhausted. Even if he’s never really slept much, it doesn’t mean he’s impervious to needing to shut down occasionally.

In the end, he isn’t interested in exploring the intricacies of dream reading while running on empty. Especially for something that’s not even that big a deal.

So what if he’d dreamt of screaming himself hoarse, clenched tight around his brother’s cock as he rode out his orgasm?

It doesn’t mean anything.

The pounding in his blind socket returns, body tensing at the pain. Papyrus turns over and forces his eyes shut. Sleep will come if he waits long enough for it, and maybe this time it’ll be dreamless.

But when the morning comes, and he’s still only managed to catch snatches of sleep in between long stretches of malcontent, things aren’t quite as easy to cast away.

For one, the filth in his shorts has gone an unappealing mixture of stiff and tacky. He spares a second to be remorseful over not having the foresight to clean up at night before shaking the thought away. It isn’t like he hasn’t woken up covered in worse from those nights where he skipped wiping himself down after ‘work’. There were far worse things than a little mess from time to time.

He rolls over in bed and peels the shorts off before tossing them to the side into a rank pile of clothing. Then he pushes himself up to his feet, pelvis bare and only an undershirt covering him.

Thoughtful, Papyrus tugs the hem of the black, sleeveless top down, as if to cover his indecency. He glances over at the figure he strikes in the dirty, full-length mirror laying unhung against his wall. Standing like this, still softened from sleep and looking bashful with his shirt pulled down over his bare bones, makes him snicker.

That good humour washes away a second later when a shout booms through the house, loud enough to jostle the sparse furniture in his room. “Papyrus!”

He freezes in place, images from his dream last night flashing through his mind in quick succession. Then, he clenches his phalanges tight into the fabric of his undershirt; hard enough that he can feel his bones scraping through to the other side.

What is he getting so worked up over? It’s only Sans.

One dream doesn’t change a thing.

“What?” He hollers, forcing past the feeling of his soul rising up in his false-throat.

“Pap, you ingrate,” Sans shouts back, mixing what should be an affectionate nickname with his usual irritation. It’s normal, comfortable and safe. His brother continues to behave as he always does and it’s enough that Papyrus untenses just the slightest. “If you’re up, then get down here!”

Papyrus rolls his one, working eyelight, “I’m coming, Sa—”

The words dry up. He gives a full-body shudder as a tingle of magic pulses in his pelvis at the memory of shouting the same phrase in his dream. He’s already standing in front of the mirror, so he can’t brush off the way a light flush of purple works onto his cheekbones as his body heats from the thought. Papyrus locks gazes with his reflection for only a second before he looks away.

He doesn’t want to think about what he sees in that expression.

“ _Papyrus!_ ”

“I heard you the first time!” He croaks, trying for normal but rankled with nerves.

This is stupid. This is so fuckin’ ridiculous.

The dream meant nothing, so why is he reacting like this?

Gritting his teeth and forcing his body still of its trembling, Papyrus turns away from the mirror and moves towards the pile of suspect clothing by the foot of his bed. He focuses on nothing but sifting through it, searching for something clean to wear. When his hand snags on a pair of long, dark grey shorts, he pulls them up to his face to sniff at them before deeming them acceptable.

Papyrus tugs them up his hips, slips on his sandals, snatches his hoodie up from where he’d discarded it next to his mattress last night, and strides to his bedroom door.

He gives one glance over his shoulder at the mess of clothing strewn about the place—a particular pair of shorts, newly covered in filth, among them—and promises himself that he’ll do laundry later. After that, he can put all of this behind him.

… probably.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warning** that this chapter contains prostitution, referenced drug use and a scene later on (unrelated to the prostitution) that probably qualifies as noncon? it's. not really the standard sort of portrayal of noncon but i can't describe it without spoilers so please check the end notes if you're wary of even subtle hints of that. stay safe guys.

The monsters fucking him are huge. Which, honestly, wouldn’t be a deal breaker—usually it’s a bonus—but Papyrus’s had about two shots too many and is still high off his ass which is never a good mixture. A voice in his head that sounds far too familiar is telling him he’s going to regret agreeing to take what his clients gave him when he gets up tomorrow morning. He may be pushing back into every thrust right now, but even in his delirious, lust-driven state, he can hear the way his pelvis creaks with every push.

“Why the fuck are you so slow?” Seethes the monster shoved up into Papyrus’s mouth, presumably glaring back at his friend who’s busy wearing Papyrus’s pussy out. ‘Presumably’ because he can’t _actually_ see anything—his one good socket has an eyeful of the girthy, swollen cock that he can’t fit completely down his throat, saliva glistening where he’d attempted to let his tongue give the remainder some attention, but that’s about it.

“Fuck off,” his friend grunts, “I’m the one who’s paying.” 

He follows the statement up with a loaded thrust that rocks Papyrus up bodily, choking him further on the cock stretching out his mouth.

“I wanna cum in his pussy,” the first monster continues to grouse, apparently not satisfied with having Papyrus skewered like this from the front. He’d be offended if he could think past the cloudy blur of pleasure and fullness. As it is, he weakly swallows around the monster’s cock, working his conjured throat around it as his sockets water from the exertion. The monster repays him with a light smack against his face. “He’s fuckin’ falling asleep on me up here.”

Papyrus snorts, though it comes across as a burble with the way his mouth is stuffed full. As if someone could really fall asleep while being spitroasted. Not that he’s never fallen asleep on a client before while jacked up on whatever concoction he’d taken that particular day, but that’s not really his fault. Monsters that painfully vanilla should introduce themselves with a warning.

Unsympathetic, his friend claws tighter onto Papyrus’s hips and rocks his own up with enough force to black out Papyrus’s vision for a fraction of a second. “Should’ve thought of that before being all stingy with your gold.”

“Asshole.”

The monster fucking him raw tenses at the insult, but before he can respond, there’s a knock against the door to the room that they’re in. Cramped as the small space is with monsters as big as these two, the one holding him has to turn bodily in order to face towards the door. The motion drags his cock part way out of Papyrus, making him gurgle on the cock plunged down his throat.

“Time’s up,” calls Muffet’s syrupy voice through the partition, “I’ll give you boys a minute to tidy yourselves up before I bring your escorts.”

Which more or less translates to ‘get the fuck out or the guards I’ve hired expressly for this purpose will have my leave to deal with you however they deem necessary.’ The sugary sweetness is just an act. Muffet’s got a mean streak that could match his brother’s blow for blow, though she tends to be a little more clever in how she executes it.

“Shit,” hisses the monster still rammed into his mouth, “Told you, you were being too fucking slow!”

“Nah, it’s fine.” The other one insists before tugging on Papyrus’s hips so hard that he pulls him straight off of his friend’s cock and up into his arms. Papyrus gasps as his throats clears up, dizzy in a way that only comes with breathlessness extended over such a long period of time. It doesn’t matter that he technically doesn’t need to breathe when the euphoria that comes from being able to take a shaky breath in makes a splurt of wetness dribble out of him. He can barely hear the other monster complaining to his friend about it over the sudden rush in pleasure as the monster holding him drives his cock into him over and over. He uses Papyrus like a toy to fuck, slamming him down repeatedly as he starts to grow and throb.

When the monster finally cums, it’s in a gush of fluid that tops up inside of Papyrus’s cunt, filling him all the way through. Papyrus moans hoarsely, throat run ragged as his body succumbs to a lengthy orgasm, the drugs in his system making him want to soak in it. He doesn’t even notice when he’s no longer held upright but placed back on the flat surface of the singular piece of furniture in the room.

Papyrus blearily manages to hoist himself up on his elbows, his bones aching against the cold, hard surface of the table, as the monster that had been fucking his face pushes the other one aside and grips Papyrus’s hips. He strokes himself furiously over Papyrus’s gaping cunt before sinking in. Papyrus’s thoughts are all cotton fuzz as the monster shallowly thrusts a few times before also emptying his load into his already overflowing pussy. He barely breathes at the sensation, cusping on the edge of too much. His fingers twitch against the wood beneath them, a sudden intense craving for a smoke overtaking him.

Satisfied, the monsters tuck themselves back into their pants and quickly shuffle out the door, closing it behind them as they go. They leave Papyrus on the table and there he stays, staring up at the ceiling, mind blank.

It must be only minutes later that Muffet comes in, but Papyrus feels like he’s been laying there for hours, cataloging the ache in every joint. His magic has yet to dissipate and Muffet gives it, and him, an exasperated look as she comes through. “You’re supposed to clean up, Papyrus.”

“Yeah.” He manages to acknowledge through the fog in his head.

Now that the clients are gone, there’s no longer any reason for Muffet to keep up her friendly persona. She rolls her many eyes at him, lips pursed, then digs through a pocket at her side before tossing something towards him. He can’t make his hands cooperate enough to catch it, so it lands with a soft thump against his chest, cushioned by the hoodie he’s managed to keep on through his most recent sexual escapade.

“What’s the call?”

Papyrus is nodding before the question even works all the way through. “S’fine. Go ahead and book ‘em if they come back.”

He can practically see the way dollar signs light up in Muffet’s eyes at that, a genuine curve of a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

They have a mutually beneficial arrangement, he and Muffet. She gives Papyrus a secure place to work and a web— _heh_ —of extensive background knowledge on his clients while he gives her a cut of his earnings. Muffet’s got her restaurant of course, but opening up shop in a dead end place like Snowdin means nothing in terms of lining your wallet. It’s not like her food’s the greatest either; it’s mediocre at best if he’s feeling generous. When it comes down to it, it’s only proper business sense that Muffet would want to branch out into other… _entrepreneurial_ opportunities.

Whatever the case, Muffet doesn’t take kindly to her time being wasted, so Papyrus tries to find it in himself to get back up on his feet and out of her hair. He just barely manages to sit up when he sees Muffet watching him with a distant look on her face. When she catches his eye, she smiles breezily. “Sans dropped by.”

The pleasant warmth of orgasm chills immediately. He tries his best not to visibly react, though it’s not like Muffet would suspect anything anyway. There’s no reason for anyone to assume Papyrus would wander into this particular brand of disgusting.

“Oh?” A thread of frustration binds his joints together, stiff as he holds his jaw tensed. He’d spent this whole day trying to avoid thinking about his brother at all. To have Sans be brought to the forefront right now with that freshly fucked feeling still tingling all over his body is infuriating.

“Mmm,” Muffet nods, “Dropped by about an hour ago demanding to know where you were. Naturally, I told him I hadn’t seen you.”

“Thanks.” Papyrus mumbles back at her.

Muffet eyes linger over him, uncomfortably discerning. Papyrus feels stripped bare further than he already is. There’s no way for her to know what’s been plaguing him all day, but the sharp glint in her glossy, black eyes suggests the possibility all the same. 

“One of these days, he might just figure out that all he needs to do is pay me and I’d let him at you in an instant.”

Papyrus shivers.

Muffet’s wording leaves something to be desired. She can’t be held responsible for the suggestive cut of what she’s said when she has guileless intentions, but Papyrus feels irritated over it regardless. The idea of his brother paying her like his clients do makes heat rush through his already warm body. He doesn’t want to think of it—doesn’t want to think of Sans paying his way into this tiny room with the creaky, old table… of Sans cornering him in a place where he’s bound to perform his services.

Of Sans getting his money’s worth.

“Don’t phrase it like that,” Papyrus says aloud, ignoring the way his cunt involuntarily tightens, new wetness dripping out of it. “S’gross.”

Muffet blinks, confused, before comprehension dawns on her. She starts to titter, one hand coming up to daintily cover her mouth while the others wave him off. “Oh my, that’s not at all what I meant, dear. You know that.”

Her eyes glitter though, as if catalouging this sequence of events for later. Papyrus grinds his teeth together. He should have kept his mouth shut.

In lieu of giving her any more fodder against him with an answer, Papyrus gets up off the table and grabs his shorts where they’ve fallen underneath it. He shakes them off and leans back against the table for support as he drags them up over his legs. The cum covering his pelvis and thighs catches against the fabric as he pulls them on. 

“Does he know?”

Papyrus freezes, phalanges twitching against the metal of the button he’s just worked closed. He hazards a glance up at Muffet, head still facing down at his shorts. His soul relaxes when he sees nothing accusatory in her expression, a finger tapping thoughtfully at her bottom lip.

She’s not asking about what he’s been hiding. She doesn’t know.

Of course she doesn’t.

“… know about what?”

There’s a pause as Muffet stares him down, blank-faced. Then, she wordlessly gestures around the room. Papyrus huffs a quiet laugh.

Does his brother know he’s been whoring himself out?

Probably.

But it’s been years since they’ve talked about where Papyrus goes, and what he does, and how they earn enough to stay afloat. Sans likes to pretend that nothing is out of the ordinary and that suits Papyrus just fine. He’d much rather they argue and fight over inane things like who has to take out the garbage or when Papyrus is going to fix the broken door in the garage than over things that bear actual consequence in their lives. So, if Sans knows, he doesn’t bring it up, and Papyrus does his part by being as discreet as possible.

Muffet is clearly expecting a response, but he only shrugs at her. Papyrus doesn’t owe her an answer. Even if he wanted to get into it, he’d be too tired right now. Especially when he doesn’t want to think about his brother at all.

“Catch you later, Boss.” Pocketing the pouch of gold, he waves at Muffet’s frowning face before winking out of existence. 

The pull of the void calls to him like it always does when he teleports, stronger now when he’s tired and weary and looking to get home as quickly as possible. There are whispers here, coaxing him to stay just a moment longer. To rest just long enough for the darkness to coil it’s tendrils firmly around him. But he’s not a child anymore—no longer frightened by the things he sees hidden in those timeless, spaceless depths—and he flashes back out into Snowdin a thin slice of a moment later.

Papyrus wobbles at the front steps to the house, shaky from the long, tiring night. His bones rattle and ache, the cold Snowdin air doing nothing to help the dull, leaden pain abate. He catches his balance and frowns at the front door. Clearly he’s more weary than he thought if he undershot his shortcut like this. He should’ve ended up straight in his room.

He considers teleporting again but that’d be reckless, even for him. The fact that Sans came to Muffet’s looking for him is concerning but… two ‘ports back to back when he’s already so worn out is bad news. Overexerting his magic like that would knock him out of commission for hours, dead to the world as his body slept to recover. 

Papyrus sighs to himself and places a hand on the doorknob, fishing around in his pockets with his other hand for the house-keys.

The doorknob twists open under his palm before he can find them.

Startled, Papyrus snaps his head up. Sans stares back at him, eyelights bright and crazed.

He plasters a grin to his face. “Hey, bro. How’s it goin’?”

Sans latches onto his outstretched arm, tight enough to make Papyrus wince. He drags Papyrus in by it, paying no mind to the way he trips and stumbles as Sans lets go, barely keeping himself from falling. His brother slams the door behind them, making it shake in its frame, the sound of splintering wood ringing through the air. When he whirls around, Papyrus can already see thin wisps of magic smoking from his brother’s joints as he struggles to keep his temper in check.

“Where were you?” Sans grits, sockets scrunched up with the kind of anger that most monsters know not to toy with.

“Out,” Papyrus snarks, because he’s not most monsters.

Predictably, Sans snaps. He rushes forward and grabs Papyrus by the front of his hoodie, dragging him down till they’re face-to-face. A hot twinge runs up Papyrus’s spine as his brother’s furious gaze locks with his own and that’s the only thing that makes him fight Sans’ hold on him. He can’t be here right now. He can’t deal with this when he’s spent the whole day being vulnerable.

But, it’s only his temper that keeps Sans from joining the Guard, so it’s no trouble at all for him to use his boundless strength to hold Papyrus firmly in place. “ _Where were you, Papyrus?_ ”

There’s something off here.

Sans doesn’t ask things like this. His brother gives this portion of their lives a large berth and Papyrus typically clears out of apathy long enough to be grateful for it. For Sans to bring it up now… something must have happened. Something big enough that Sans can’t ignore it anymore.

And Papyrus can’t keep ignoring things either—Sans’s grip on him is making him burn fiercely. The pills his clients had slipped his way earlier are still running hot through his system, making him slick with want at just the slightest touch. Need coils deep within him, heedless of the way his cunt drips with evidence of prior satisfaction.

He wraps his phalanges tight around his brother’s wrists, tugging at them in a fruitless attempt to dislodge them from his hoodie. “Get _off_ of me.”

Sans doesn’t even flinch when Papyrus digs his fingers right into him, clawing at the gloves he’s wearing. He keeps his gaze focused and his hold unwavering. Seeing him like that makes a flare of anger rise up inside Papyrus and he snorts, derision slipping into his tone. “We’re not in stripes anymore, Sans. Let’s stop pretending that you don’t know _exactly_ where I was.”

It’s confirmation. As clear as they’ve ever been with each other.

It’s obvious from the way Sans’ eyelights flash that there’s no mistaking what Papyrus said. Disgusted, his brother releases him, and this time Papyrus does fall, the tension of his attempt to pull away snapping like elastic stretched too far. He catches himself as best he can on his hands and legs but winces as pain shoots up his tailbone anyway. It goes straight to his skull, dizzying him further in combination with the mix he’d taken. Papyrus’s head feels thick and slow, arms failing him when he can’t find the strength to get up off the floor.

But he can’t stay here; not with the way his brother is pacing angrily, sparks of magic crackling over him like lightning. Because if Sans is done turning a blind-eye, then that means that something happened. Something prompted this change, and Papyrus doesn’t want to stick around to find out what. Especially when being on the floor with Sans walking around imperiously in front of him is flashing remnants of last night’s dream in his head.

He shifts awkwardly, trying to pushing himself up into sitting first. His pelvis spasms from the strain, tonight’s abuse too much for it. Papyrus groans at the pain, falling right back into his earlier position, this time panting with exertion. The attempt to get up leaves him suddenly feeling ten times as tired as he had been moments ago.

“What the _hell_.”

‘ _Language_ ,’ he almost wants to taunt his brother, but he can’t find the breath to do so, chest still heaving. Vision bleary, Papyrus looks back up only to see Sans staring down at him, expression twisted up. It’s then that Papyrus feels cold trickling down his femurs. He knows without looking down what it must be.

“It’s cum, bro.” His soul is squashed right up against the back of his sternum, drumming so hard it might beat right out of his ribcage. He’d be better for it too. At least that way his mouth wouldn’t continue to run nervously without his say-so. “Maybe if you were a little less self-obsessed, you’d have more experience with it.”

Sans is on him in an instant.

They never fight—well, not physically anyway.

They haven’t for a long, long time.

So, Papyrus isn’t frightened of Sans getting violent with him like his brother might with anyone else, but he’s still not in any sort of place to be handled roughly. It’s not because he can’t take anything his brother might dish out, but more because the second Sans’ phalanges wrap around his legs and tug him down flat by them, a full-bodied shudder racks through his body. That’s not a reaction he wants to be having right now. That’s dangerous.

“All you ever do is mess things up for me, Papyrus.” His brother growls, refocusing Papyrus’s attention on his brother’s anger and not his touch, and, wow, okay, maybe it would’ve been better if Sans _had_ hit him because Papyrus takes that about as well as a punch to the gut anyways. It’s not like it isn’t true but, hey, Sans ain’t winning any awards for Brother-of-the-Year either.

He forces out a laugh, grins at Sans through the dull, throbbing pain in his soul. “C’mon, you don’t need _me_ for that. I think you manage just fine on your own.”

Enraged, Sans pushes forward, changing his grip till his phalanges are wrapped tight around Papyrus’s femurs and Sans is settled in between them. Papyrus yelps, the altered position making heat flood through his face. He has to bite back an automatic moan that works its way up into his mouth at how far his brother wrenched his legs apart. It takes a strength of will he didn’t know he possessed to keep from wriggling his hips down into his brother’s lap and grinding against him. 

Sans is oblivious to it all, scowl still etched into his face and magic now sparking intermittently from his left eye.

“You’re the reason no one takes me seriously.” Sans bites out, and the rough tone of his voice does nothing to stop Papyrus’s body from reacting like how it’s used to, going limp and yielding.

He tries to grip into the carpet beneath him to ground himself, but when his brother scrapes his gloved phalanges against his bare bones, Papyrus’s still-conjured cunt gives an embarrassing throb. It’s enough that the sharp retort he’s planning dies right in his throat, mind too busy lighting up with alarm. Sans tugs his legs further apart and Papyrus can’t help the way his breath catches as his shorts ride up, exposing his dripping thighs. He can’t make himself look up at Sans, but he can almost imagine the sneer on his brother’s face. 

The fact that that does nothing to lessen his arousal is frightening.

“I’ll kill them.” Sans says in a loaded whisper, and everything in that moment feels amplified. Papyrus isn’t sure if it’s what he took, but it’s like his brother’s hands on him are weighted and hot and too much. Still, his body yearns for that feeling everywhere. “I’ll kill everyone who touched you.”

His brother is a psychopath. His brother has something seriously wrong with him.

There’s something even worse up with Papyrus though, because the proclamation has him lighting up with a fire inside his soul that begs to be doused by Sans’ hands alone. Because—if Papyrus twists his words a just a little, if he reads into them just a notch—Sans sounds _jealous_. 

Sans sounds _possessive_.

And with only that thought to trigger it, Papyrus’s mind is awash in the images of last night. Of Sans hooking his thumbs into Papyrus’s cunt to spread him open. Of Sans spearing him on his thick length and fucking him till Papyrus was gasping for breath he didn’t rightly even need. He’s grinding down on his brother before he can think better of it.

Sans chokes, “What—”

But Papyrus can’t hear him over his own broken moan as his oft-neglected clit rubs against two layers of cloth, one slick and slippery with cum and the other still dry. His brother isn’t hard, not at all like the way he’d been in Papyrus’s dream, but that doesn’t deter him in the slightest. Sans still has his legs gripped tight and pulled vulnerably open after all, and the idea of being forced into such a position and kept there by his brother makes his cunt quiver and drip beneath his shorts.

“ _Papyrus_.” He’s too far gone to read anything into the way Sans says his name, but when his brother moves, it’s in an obvious attempt to stop him. Sans brings a hand up, trying to push Papyrus flat with a stiff push against his sternum, but by that time it’s already too late. Papyrus has been wound up since Sans got between his legs—since even longer if he starts counting from the rude awakening this morning. So, when his brother sits up to get his hand up on Papyrus’s chest and inadvertently grinds up into him, the small friction feels like an overwhelming wave of stimulation.

Papyrus short-circuits. His mind is on fire with an electric crackle that blazes out all other thought. He comes for the last time that night with a high that whites out everything but the overshot pulse of his soul and the satisfied aching in his cunt. When he reboots, it’s to the dissipating haze of orgasm and his brother’s stricken expression.

Papyrus goes cold. He’s never seen Sans look like that.

They stare at each other and Papyrus feels shame flood his system even as his pussy continues to ripple, wetness steadily dripping out of him. His brother’s eyes on him are unreadable, blank-faced now when in the immediate aftermath they’d been sickeningly open. Papyrus’s chest feels tight.

Sans works his jaw, eyelights flickering in and out like rapidfire. His grip on Papyrus loosens, femurs falling out of his hold. “I—”

The second Sans is no longer touching him, Papyrus takes a shortcut.

It strains his magic to its limits, drains him dry in a way that he’ll be feeling for weeks, but it’s necessary. In fact, it’s what he _should’ve_ fucking done in the first place instead of walking through the front door like an idiot. If he’d just done that, he could’ve avoided all… _this_.

Instead, he’d rubbed his leaking cunt all over his brother and gotten off on it.

There was no going back from that; no pretending that it was anything other than what it was. Nothing Papyrus could say would explain it away. After this, his brother would know exactly how fucking filthy he was and how deep his depravities ran.

The sound of approaching footsteps makes Papyrus freeze. He stiffens completely, as if holding still will make the danger go away. Through the crack underneath his bedroom door, he can see a shadow come to a stop in front of his bedroom door. Papyrus squeezes his sockets shut but he still easily picture Sans standing right outside. He holds his breath, mind desperately stringing together excuses that fall apart before he can ever even think to voice them.

And then the shadow passes.

Papyrus waits, soul so still that it’s a miracle he’s not dust where he stands.

But Sans doesn’t come back.

He swallows drily and shuffles around till he catches sight of the discarded clothing from earlier in the morning. He shucks his shorts off into it and debates using a dry end to wipe himself down as he does so. He decides against it, body feeling far too heavy and cumbersome.

When Papyrus collapses into bed, he has no delusions of sleep finding him.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the noncon is as follows:  
> \- after sans pins pap during a fight, papyrus grinds on him and climaxes from it  
> \- sans is essentially ?????? throughout all of it  
> \- he doesn't really get what's happening is a sexual thing till pap comes  
> \- papyrus leaves before they can discuss it so you never get a chance to see sans thoughts on it


End file.
